Black Adagio

by Potocki, Wendy

  Eighteen, nineteen, twenty ...

  “It’s in my bag!” she called out.

  Anticipating her friend’s familiar form in the doorway, a flickering shadow skittered in. Only seeing it in her peripheral vision, a sense of discomfort arose. Suspecting the row of windows as the culprit, she speculated it was a headlight from a distant car.

  Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven ...

  The hair on the back of her neck standing on end, a shadow moved behind her. Regretting dimming the lights, it was too dark to properly see. She wanted so badly to turn around, but was determined to finish the series of turns. She was letting things get to her. Scrutinizing the reflective surface, she was alone, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had company.

  “Melissa!” she called out, hoping to receive an answer. Only the music playing, it neared completion of the phrase.

  Twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one …

  She was so happy that she only had one more turn to go. Entirely prepared to forego doing her left side, she readied to grab her bag and leave. There would be no lingering in this place any longer.

  A sound similar to nails clicking along the floor caused her to spill out of the last turn. Ending in a splayed fourth position, she froze. Feverishly searching the mirror, there was nothing but endless black.

  “Who’s there!” she screamed as a spidery hand struck out.

  Talons ripping across the back of her ankles, they severed both Achilles tendons in one swipe. Screaming out, she fell to the ground. Writhing in pain, her pointe shoes were soaked with blood.

  A hooded figure mounting her, she screamed again, trying to get away. A growl emitted from the creature pinning her down, skeletal hands trapped her in an icy grip as the heartless creature whispered into her ear.

  “Momento mori, Christina. Momento mori.”

  Chapter twenty-seven

  Melissa awoke sore from last night's dancefest. Starting her morning ritual by luxuriating in a nice hot shower, it usually did the trick in flushing out lactic acid. The hot deluge more than refreshing, she spent way too much time under the shower head. Feeling at least human, she was finally ready to start her day.

  Brushing through her hair one last time, she made sure she was satisfied with her appearance. She tugged at her icy blue top, tossing her mane over one shoulder. Famished and craving breakfast, she headed downstairs, hearing loud voices drifting up the stairs. Leaning over the banister, there was a crowd gathered in the lobby. Anxious as to what was wrong, she increased her pace. Her fellow students congregated in front of the office. Milling about, they resembled sheep that had lost their shepherd.

  “Melissa!”

  Responding to her name, she scanned the group. Seeing Collette's raised hand, her friend pushed through, meeting Missy at the foot of the stairs. Her eyes red, she'd been crying.

  “What's wrong, Collette?”

  Throwing herself into Missy’s arms, she tried to answer through frequent sobs.

  “Oh, my God, Melissa! There are police cars outside, and, and the classes have been c-cancelled. I think it has something to do with Tina! Sh-she didn't come back last night! I mean at all!”

  “What?” Her voice verging on hysterical, she didn’t care. Grabbing Collette, she tried to steady her friend. “I don't understand. What do you mean she didn't come back?”

  Fresh tears streaming down the angelically soft face that was rimmed by pre-Raphaelite curls, her cheeks were flushed from emotion.

  “It's like I said, she didn't come back! She wasn’t there when I went to sleep, and when I woke up this morning, she still wasn’t! Her bed wasn't even slept in! What the hell is going on, Melissa? What? First, Brandi and now Tina ...”

  Melissa held Collette to her, trying to quiet her down.

  “I know what you're feeling, but one thing has nothing to do with the other,” she explained tenderly, “Brandi left, remember? Wrote a note and took a cab. What you're saying is something completely different. There was no way Tina was leaving. I just talked to her and ...”

  Realizing what she about to say, she applied the brakes, coming to an abrupt halt. She couldn't be involved in this. She couldn't. They weren't supposed to be using studios without permission, but that couldn't have anything to do with this. Her eyes filled with tears as the reality of the situation hit her. Tina was gone. Collette looked into Missy's worried face. It was all she needed to set her off. Bursting into tears, the two girls tried to comfort one another.

  “Collette Bradley! Is there a Collette Bradley here?”

  The authoritative voice wended through the tumble of thoughts racing through her head. Collette pulled away, looking to see who was calling her name. It was Foster Lake, Brent Larabee standing by his side.

  “Oh, my God, what am I going to say?” Collette said, panicking even further.

  Melissa put her hands on her shoulders.

  “Just tell them the truth. You might be able to help them find her. Think about it that way.”

  “You're right. I don't know why I'm freaking out like this. It's Tina I should be worried about.” Patting Melissa's hands, she turned around, heading straight for Larabee.

  “I'm Collette Bradley.”

  “You mind talking to us a few minutes, Ms. Bradley?” Lake asked politely.

  “No, not at all.”

  Escorting her out the front door, Melissa ran to the window to watch.

  “Hey, Melissa. Did you hear?” Kurt asked, sidling up to her and pushing back the curtain.

  “About Tina being missing? Yes, Collette told me. What do you think happened?”

  “Intruder,” he responded, letting the curtain fall back into place. “I mean, it must have happened here.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because I heard there was blood found in one of the studios.”

  Gasping, Melissa grabbed at her stomach that was quickly tying itself into a knot. Debating about asking the obvious question, she had to know.

  “Do you know which one?”

  “I guess there's one in the annex. I didn't even know.”

  “Me neither,” she lied, her heart sinking at the thought of being drawn into the investigation. No, wait! Nobody knew. She'd left before anything happened so there was nothing to connect her.

  “But how do they know the blood is Tina's?”

  “They don't. It's just she's not here.”

  “I see. So they don’t know if Tina was in that studio?”

  “Yeah, they do. They found her stuff in it. From what I heard, it’s a private studio that’s used by Una and her grandmother. They give themselves a class every morning … ”

  “Gosh, I had no idea.”

  “Well, why would you? I mean, it's their personal habits. Don't think they're about to tell a bunch of students how they keep in shape.”

  “I suppose not, but why did they look there?”

  “When Collette reported her gone, they did a search and found the blood.”

  “Maybe someone cut themselves?”

  “Yeah, no. There was a bunch of it from what I heard. ”

  Melissa blanched, placing her hand on her forehead.

  “Sorry,” Kurt apologized, putting his arm around her. “You okay? You don't look so good.”

  “I'm fine, it's just this is horrible.”

  “Maybe not. They don't even know that anything happened to Tina.”

  “Right. It’s all a bunch of assumptions. I guess it makes me feel a little better, but not much.”

  “Everyone feels the same way, Missy. Until Tina comes back, we’re all gonna be on edge.”

  Thinking about what Collette insinuated, doubts fed into the supposition.

  “You don't think it’s connected with Brandi, do you?”

  “Not really. Two different circumstances, but think about this. Wouldn’t it be weird if were Brandi's blood?”

  “Kurt! What made you say that?”

  “I don't know. It's just no one saw her get on th
at train. She might be roaming about ... haunting the place.”

  “I think you've been watching too many movies.”

  “That may be so, but dig this, that blood might be from someone we don’t even know.”

  “Like?”

  “I don't know! Like, somebody sneaking around. There could be a vagrant getting in here. I mean, it is a pretty big space and there's not really much security.”

  “Yeah, you did say an intruder. Oh, Kurt, I just feel sick about this,” she said laying her head on his shoulder. Feeling so good to have him comfort her, she relaxed against him. Closing her eyes, she opened them to see the startled face of Todd. Standing in the doorway, he looked as if he'd been hit with a sledgehammer. Bolting, he exited before saying a word.

  “What the hell got into him?”

  “I don't know,” Melissa said, “but I think I need to find out.”

  Running after him, she latched her hand on his wrist, stopping him from getting into his car.

  “Todd, it's not what you think. I was upset about Tina. That's all. Honest. We're just dancing buddies.” Shivering, she brought her arms around her, trying to ward off the cold.

  “It looked a little more than that,” he replied, his confident smile erased.

  “He has a crush on me. It sometimes happens when you see someone every day, but it doesn’t mean anything.”

  “Then you don't ...?”

  “No,” she assured him, the corners of her lips turning up. Starting to throw her arms around him, she pulled back, aware that police were roaming about.

  “Yeah, I guess a police investigation puts a damper on that sort of thing,” Todd observed.

  “I'll say. Can we get together tonight? I'd like to talk to you.”

  “You mean, about this?”

  “Yeah, about this ... and us. Really, he's just a friend.”

  “Sure,” Todd answered, patting her arm. “Now you get inside before you freeze to death.”

  Dashing back to the safety of the overheated building, she took her place at the window as the first snowflakes of the season began to fall.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Wolfing down her hamburger at their favorite table, she went over the details of the case with Todd. Bonnie gave them plenty of space to talk by not hovering.

  “This is so weird, Todd,” Missy continued, a man at a front table shooting her another furtive look. “Brandi was bad enough, but now Tina? Do you think there's some abductor … kidnapper person out there? Like a serial killer?”

  “Anything's possible. The thing is we rely on facts and what we're doing is speculating.”

  “Yeah, well, it's because there are a lot of crazies out there! I've read stories about these guys.”

  “If it’ll make you feel any better, we've never had something like that happen in Holybrook …”

  “You don't know that it never happened before. There was Barbara Moore.”

  He slapped his hand over his forehead.

  “We're not going through that again, are we? Barbara’s own mother called off the search. Isn’t that enough?”

  “But why? Why would she call it off?”

  “Because she heard from her, that's why! Look, we do-si-doed down this road before.” Motioning to Bonnie over his shoulder, he caught her attention.

  “Hey, Bonnie, can I have a refill, please?”

  “Sure thing,” she responded, whisking the tumbler away.

  Turning back, Missy was ready for him.

  “Excuse me for saying this, but that is a pretty lackadaisical attitude and at odds with how you're presenting the Holybrook police.”

  “What?”

  “I mean, what if Barbara’s mother was responsible for her daughter's murder? You'd have the murderer calling up and saying, 'Nope, never mind!' without you guys checking out her story? Tell me this, what if Barbara’s age had been eight instead of sixteen? Would her mother have been able to casually call up and tell you that everything was fine without proof?”

  Bonnie placed his drink down. The ice still tinkling, she was on her way. Good at what she did, no grass ever grew under her ever-in-motion feet.

  Todd scratched his eyebrows. “I do see what you mean, but the age is everything. And, no, if Barbara were eight, we wouldn't just take her word that she was fine, but then again, maybe we would.”

  “Huh?” It was her turn to be confused.

  “What I'm saying is that this is a small community. If Mrs. Moore or anyone else made such a phone call, then that child had better be in school the next day. If not at school, then at church, or at the store, or somewhere else. In other words, if she weren’t following her regular routine, we'd notice and move in with more questions. In this case, you're dealing with a teenager ...”

  “... who is technically still a child ...”

  “True, but she had a father that lived out of state, and a boyfriend who she had a strong attachment to. A lot of parents give up on forcing their children to behave.”

  “Forcing? You mean abandon parenting because it becomes too hard?”

  Todd liked this girl. Liked that she had the moral fiber to stick with a situation, and that she had the strength to hold other people's feet to the fire. She'd make a good friend, a wonderful wife, and a superlative mother, all of which he was actively seeking.

  “What's the smile for?” she asked.

  “Because you're great. Well said, and I agree. Remember, I just joined this party, so I don't know what the rationale was for letting a sixteen-year-old slip through our fingers. I suspect it was a different world back then, but I think we should find out,” he said wiping his mouth and calling for the bill.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think that we should go and pay Mrs. Moore a visit.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “As I'll ever be. Personally, I'm curious to hear why she wrote her daughter off like that.”

  “But she won't talk to us.”

  “You mean, she doesn't have to, but it never hurts to ask.”

  Paying the check, Melissa noticed the same man who had been staring at her all evening, still doing it. Tugging slightly on Todd's sleeve, she whispered quietly.

  “Now don't turn around, or look too quickly, but that guy at the front table keeps staring at me.”

  “I don't blame him.”

  “I'm serious! Just take a look at him, will you? He's dressed in black and white, and he has this big hump.”

  “Hump?”

  “Yeah, in his hair. Right in the front, like this bump.”

  “With that description, I think I'd look, anyway.” Getting up, he grabbed Melissa's coat. Helping her into it, he slid into his, zipping it up all the way.

  “Bye, Bonnie!” he waved. Smiling, he opened the door, getting a glimpse of the man that had been eyeing Melissa. Except for the out-of-date hairstyling, he was phenomenally normal.

  “Yeah, bye!” Melissa piled on, waiting until they were safely outside for Todd's assessment. “So what do you think?”

  “That you're adorable,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose.

  “Oh, God! I hate when people say those things in the middle of a serious conversation!”

  “I suppose you're going to hate me even more for telling you that you're even cuter when you're mad?” he joked, waiting for either a giggle or a slap.

  Shooting a finger out, she pointed it, shaking it as if it were a stick.

  “Now that was a very bad joke. That was a joke, wasn't it? Because if I thought you really meant it, it would change everything that I thought about you.”

  “Well, then I guess I'd better say it was a joke,” he deadpanned, opening the passenger side of the door.

  “Oh, you!” she giggled, sliding in.

  * * * * *

  Ringing the doorbell, they waited in silence. Staring at the old Christmas wreath pinned to the door, the aged face of a woman appeared. The portico located between the windows decorated with lighted, bubbling can
dles, Melissa took a step back.

  “May I help you?” the elderly woman asked. Her sunken brown eyes liquid with pain, she shuddered, hugging her sweater together.

  “Mrs. Moore?” Todd began. Melissa's nerves began to show. Ramming her hands in her pockets, she hoped it would stop them from shaking.

  “Yes? Do I know you?” she asked, peering into his face.

  “I'm Todd, Todd Cavanaugh. Grant's son.”

  “Grant Cavanaugh?” she mulled over the name like stale chewing gum. “I don't think I know a Grant Cavanaugh.”

  “He's a driver for Bell Cabs.”

  “Oh, right, right, right,” she muttered, a tincture of holiday music in the background.

  A breeze blew her thin bangs to the side. The rest of her thinning, straggly hair unable to sufficiently cover her scalp, her hollowed-out features spoke of the kind of grief that felt as if you had one foot in a perpetual grave.

  “Actually, I'm not here because of him. I'm here to ask you some questions about Barbara.”

  The name jabbed at her like a knife. Her eyes rounding, her face filled with shock. Animated, at least she no longer resembled someone drawing in their last breath.

  “Barbara? Wait, aren't you a member of the police?”

  “Yes, I am, but I want to make clear that this is a personal visit and has nothing to do with official police business. You have the right to refuse to talk with us if you want.”

  Her eyes darting from Melissa to Todd, she looked for someone to tell her why they’d disturbed her evening. Giving up entertaining strangers in the hopes of having fun, that had ended forty years ago.

  “I don’t understand. What do you mean ‘personal’?”

  “It’s personal to me, Mrs. Moore. My name is Melissa Solange. I'm a part of Velofsky Ballet, and my roommate, Brandi Cappella went missing. And, well, I’d heard about your daughter and thought ... well, I wanted to make sure that the incidents weren’t connected.”

  Midge Moore squinted, crinkling her face in angry censure. She'd heard all about the girl that had disappeared. It had nothing to do with her.

  “Forty years separate the two. Isn't that enough to convince you they’re not related?”